Diary of Angleterre
by MeinBritishBroski
Summary: "There's a fine line between love and hate." An angsty FrUK oneshot with mentions of USUK. Inspired heavily by Diary of Jane by Breaking Benjamin. My first time writing FrUK


_A FrUK fanfic was requested by my good friend Sydney (*SydneytheSeagull) on DeviantArt. She said I could do whatever I wanted... so, I did._

_Review?_

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><p>His heart was beating feebly in his chest as he quietly slipped a small leather-bound book into his back pocket. Francis wore a composed smile on his face, though his blue eyes were lacking their usual devious luster - instead retaining a dismal bleakness. Arthur rubbed his eyes, lifting his head in acknowledgment of the Frenchman leaning on the desk before him. Francis received a spiteful glare from those fiery, but beautiful, green eyes.<p>

Francis' heart panged when Arthur yelled at him to leave, voice slicing through the tension that was threatening to suffocate them both - Francis bit his lower lip, whispered a 'goodbye' and an 'I love you' before he abandoned Arthur's house to wallow in his thoughts, drown in his own self-pity and a nice glass of red wine. Technically-speaking, Francis and Arthur were currently experiencing what some people would call "a minor setback". This 'minor setback' was eating away at the core of Francis' heart, lacing every thought of his partner with suspicion and a raw feeling of distrust.

Something was getting in the way of their relationship and tonight... tonight Francis was going to find out. He was going to find out if he was the only one occupying the small lot of free space in Arthur's heart or not. If he wasn't... then he would deal with that when that problem arose. That little leather book was going to assist him in finding out... if nothing was amiss, and he still had a place in the diary amongst the secrets and desires then he could easily slip it back without Arthur ever knowing it was missing.  
>But the book inside his pocket brought with it an ominous feeling. The feeling was like the hands of a demon pushing down on his shoulders. The pressure and pain was horrendous.<p>

He found it increasingly hard to breathe as he walked through the front door to his home. Francis got the fire in the fireplace started - it was essential in creating the right atmosphere for wine-drinking, after all. He set the book on the throw-rug in front of the fireplace, leaving it to go pour himself a glass of wine. When he returned he sat down gracelessly on the floor, letting the warmth from the fire wash over him - he exhaled softly, taking the diary and opening it with a flick of his wrist.

The first thing that caught his eye was that the first few pages of the book had been torn out. The pages after that were only dated after the year 1453 - after the 100 years' war. The entries after that were considerably hateful - but what else was to be expected? He was called a 'damn dirty Frog', a 'bloody minger', a 'selfish wanker'... but it wasn't those words that phased him. It was how the hatred slowly faded the later the dates went. It phased him how the text in the entries were becoming blotchy - it phased him how much the topic was on Alfred and how an unbearable amount of depression had found its way out of Arthur's mind and into the pages.

Then he saw three words that he had always said to the Briton, but words that had only been said in response to his own _once_. _I love you; I love you with all of my heart, Arthur... _But those words were not directed at him, and they were crossed out, with an added question mark at the end. After that the entries dwindled away, skipping days, months, years. His fingers moved nimbly, turning the pages until he reached the very back cover.

There was a heart there - with two initials Francis couldn't believe were together, both initials in different handwriting; one professional, the other sloppy and careless.

So that was what made Arthur tick? Was it the thrill of doing something he wasn't supposed to? Yes... he had always been a rebel at heart.

Francis could play that game.

He downed the rest of his wine, wiping the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand. Francis gutted the book; ripping out it's insides and tossing them into the fire which crackled as it was given what was vital - a life, more time.

Francis got to his feet unsteadily, stumbling to the kitchen and grabbing the opened bottle of wine. Forgoing the glass, he brought the whole bottle with him, taking a swig every once in a while as he made his way back to the living room to sit down on the floor once more.

All those lovely nights they had spent together... had Arthur been motivated by the coldness of the night and the fact that there was another person willing to hold him and keep him warm? Or had he really loved him but his feelings were now gone?

He felt sore and sick when the alcohol hit his system.

Francis had ensured his place in Arthur's diary... at least he had for a short while. But those chapters of Arthur's life had been torn out... along with Francis' heart.

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><p><strong>AN;**

I did this while listening to Diary of Jane - Breaking Benjamin. /angsts in the corner by herself  
>Furrrrransuuuuuu-nii-channnnnnnnnn... I'm so <em>sorry<em> D:  
>Guys... I think FrUK is one of my new OTP's. shivers

**Review...please...? I'm so lonely... **


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